Fall Out Girl (10 page)

Breathless, Caleb tore his mouth away and pressed his forehead on mine. “I wonder how I survived all these years without tasting you.” His tongue swiped across my lips as he spoke. “It’s like an addiction. Since yesterday, your taste, your smell is all I can think of.”

Do you want to know the funny things about life? Epiphanies don’t happen when reasoning is heightened, and we actively seek them. They sneak up on us when we least expect. When our senses are submerged and our brain function is focused on a different subject. And then, BOOM! We glimpse a revelation. But then, it’s gone, like a falling star that you rush to make a wish on before its trail disappears in the sky.

Though I was floored with the emotions battling inside my chest, I was able to capture a nugget from the revelation. I was lonely and helpless, a black dot on an otherwise blank canvas, a lost asteroid spinning endlessly through the Milk Way… and I was a becoming a damn poet.

I shook my head and pushed Caleb away. I took a few steps, placing a needed distance between us. I needed air, pure and clear of his heady smell.

I took a few deep breaths. Blood flow returned oxygen to my brain, reactivating the interrupted synapsis. “Make yourself useful and help me with those,” I said, nodding to the bird feeders.

I grabbed a feeder and walked to the other end of the tree. I needed to compose myself, to restore my dignity.

Caleb and I hung the feeders in silence.

“Where did you get these feeders? They’re so cool.”

“I built them,” I said quietly.

“Wow, you like carpentry?”

“Something like that.”

“You’re like this box of surprises. No, you’re like the moon; part of you is always hidden away.” He chuckled and hung the last feeder. With a warm wind swirling around him, the willow’s leaves wavering against his profile, he looked fierce, handsome, wholesome… and so out of my league.

I needed to get the hell away from him. I had to leave. Not wanting to leave my footprint on the environment, I got the empty plastic bag so I could toss it in the trash bin. “Well, thank you for the help.”

“Luna, we need to talk.” Caleb held my arm.

“What about? Hooking up? No, we don’t need to talk about the fact that you accost me and kiss me every chance you get.” I needed to keep the conversation impersonal.

“That’s an unfair statement. You’re always responsive to my kisses. Ardently, I’ll point out.”

“So what? You’re not the first guy I’ve hooked up with, nor will you be the last. You surely know about my reputation. Hence your…” I waved a disdainful hand. “Chasing me.”

“Yes. You’re right. I know about your rep. But I don’t know you. Not the real you, the one you hide from everybody.” He narrowed his eyes. “But I’d like to.”

I laughed bitterly. “Are you implying that there’s more to me than meets the eye? So unimaginative. I didn’t peg you for the cliché type.”

“I know what you’re trying to do, the barriers you keep trying to put up, but I can see right through it all.” He pulled me against his chest. We both panted, our breath mingling. “Try to deny we have chemistry.”

I looked up at him. My fingers traced his lips. “You had your chance to fuck me last night.” My voice was glacially cold. “And just so you know:
It won’t happen again
. So get ready to wallow in regret.”

I jerked my arm free and marched away without looking back.

In a haze, I made it back to the car and drove home. My heart was pounding in my ears. What was happening with me? Caleb stirred unbidden emotions that were much deeper than I first thought.

The twilight had always made me feel melancholic as if I was missing something vital. But as I drove, and I watched the light of the day dim, sadness gripped my heart in a vice.

My phone vibrated in my pocket, but ignoring it; I got out of the car. With the intention of eating a bowl of cereal, I entered through the back door. As usual, on Saturdays Aunt Lace hosted parties. The typical guests, about ten of them, were Aunt Laces’ high school friends. They each brought a handful of hallucinogen and a six-pack of cheap beer. As hostess, she provided food, which consisted of fries, potato chips, and salsa, which I generously provided with the weekly groceries. It was always the same routine, loud music, blinds down, and the vile stench of stale beer, grease, pot, and cigarettes.

Three guys sat on the kitchen table, hovering over a crack pipe.

Jerry, AKA Pill Popper, looked up and flashed his gaped yellow teeth at me. “Hey, Luna, just in time. We’re about to try some new shit. Better than ecstasy. You in? My treat.” Jerry was one year older than I was though he looked forty. We hooked up a couple years back when his teeth were whiter, and his fingernails rims were clean. At that time, he was a sweet and shy geek. After a few dates, I realized he was after my merchandise and booted him. To my dismay, and total mortification, he ended up befriending Aunt Lace and her gang.

I smiled back. “Not today, Jerry.” Or in this lifetime.

He shrugged his scrawny shoulders. “Whatever. Your loss,” he said, chugging his beer.

Aunt Lace, entering the kitchen, said, “Princess Luna is too good for the likes of us.” She sat on Jerry’s lap and stared at me with contempt and loathing.

I skipped the bowl of cereal, mumbled a “gotta go,” and stomped out. Jake’s room was empty, so I retreated to my lair.

I wish I knew where Jake was. Lately, we spent very little time together. I understood he was growing up, dating, and naturally, that put a wedge between us. But I was concerned about him. He seemed withdrawn and at times, he appeared to resent me.

After shuffling my iPod in search of a good song, I found
Sweet Death Agony
by Tarry Francis and put it on repeat. It would help me block what was happening on the other side of the door while I wrote a paper that was due on Monday.

Oh, the joy of William Shakespeare. Seriously, the dude died long before I breathed my first breath, and there I was, on Saturday night, dissecting his words. My assignment was to write a five-hundred-word paper on a quote from the famous writer. I didn’t get the point, but I needed the grade. Since Dad’s death, I wasn’t into reading, especially Shakespeare. Too tragic!

The project had been a nightmare until I hit gold. I found a passage in Macbeth that I could work with. And surprisingly, I related to the quote so much that I did understand all the fuss about the man. The only way to describe it is as if this ancient stranger had turned a concoction of words into something that perfectly described all of my feelings at once. It was a powerful magic that Shakespeare weaved.

“Out, out, brief candle! Life’s but a walking shadow, a poor player that struts and frets his hour upon the stage and then is heard no more: it is a tale told by an idiot, full of sound and fury, signifying nothing.”
My words filled the room as I read the passage.

Need I say more? This freaking quote summarized my exact thoughts about life in general. One day we’re here, the next we aren’t. Why bother, then? Why are we such foolish, vain beings that we think the world of ourselves? None of it will matter anyway. Life is but a vapor in the wind.

I wrote furiously. Like the muse possessed me. Unfortunately, after writing four hundred words, I was stuck. Yikes, so close, yet so far. Lying on my back with feet propped on the headboard, I tossed a stress ball against the wall. Again and again, it bounced back to me. What did Mrs. Price, our English teacher, want to accomplish, turn us into philosophers? Commendable, but in the end, it was all a waste.

Then, a thought hit me like a brick, an Oprah’s “Aha Moment” if you will (I was getting good at those).

I rolled back to my tummy; elbows propped on the mattress, and I scribbled the thoughts as fast as they came to mind.

‘“To be, or not to be: that is the question.” All in life: Every lesson we learn, every tear we drop, every possession we obtain, every beat of our hearts, every breath we inhale, all is moot, if we fail to first answer the question.’

On that Saturday night my friends and foes, I officially became a Shakespeare devotee. Well, sort of.

Relieved to have finished the abhorrent paper, I rolled on my back. It didn’t go unnoticed that I had admitted, in the privacy within the walls of my room, to be a “poet pusher.” Yep, my actions, and emotions were inhumanely volatile. They were as cyclic as the ocean tides.

There was no way in hell I would venture out of my room, so I ignored the growls in my stomach. With my eyes closed, I reminisced about my encounter with Caleb. A tingling sensation spread across my lips. That kiss. That boy could kiss. My chest, reeling with conflicted emotions, tightened. Do I want him or not? Well, I knew the answer to the question. Of course, I wanted him. The real question was, should I give in to my most undesirable desire and have a relationship with Caleb? But at what price?

When Caleb’s arms had been around me, my chest felt less hollow, and my soul was no longer as dreary. Could I survive such a vulnerable place? Since my father’s death, I had built a thick shell around me, around my emotions. With a flick of his fingers, Caleb had removed it and exposed me in a terrifying way.

With those thoughts reeling in my mind, the husky voice of Tarry lulled me to sleep.

I woke up with a jolt. It felt like someone had dropped a boulder on my bed. Fear surged through my body like rampant fire. I snapped my eyes open to see someone lying face down beside me. What the hell? But it was just Jake. He had a pungent odor of liquor and cigarettes and something else, a citrus vomit smell like.

“He can’t find me on the yellow road,” he mumbled.

“Jake, what are you doing?” I nudged him. Was he drunk?

“Leave me alone,” he grumbled. “The moon, it’s not a moon, it’s Luna, that’s why the road is yellow. Don’t you fucking love it? It’s yellow.”

“You smell weird. Open your eyes.” I tapped his shoulder. Yes, he was drunk as a skunk.

He swatted my hand away. “I don’t like colors. They’re too freaky. I have to hide them.” He sat on the edge of the bed.

The digital clock marked one thirty in the morning. I flicked the light on and looked at Jake. His pupils were dilated. “Jake, what’s going on?” He was more than drunk.

“Jake are you… stoned?”

“Fucking yeah,” he said with a grin. “Don’t worry, I’m crashing.”

“No, no. Not you.” That was not happening.

“Yo, you’re such a control freak. No big deal, really. I just want to chase the yellow away.” He looked at me with ever-present sadness in his face.

“Don’t give me that.” I stood up. I pressed both my temples and paced the room. Unbelievable. He broke one of the cardinal rules. It was never a good idea to use drugs when you sold them.

“I want to ride the white horse is all. It’s white, Luna. I love white horses. I waited my entire life for them. Mustangs. They’re beautiful.” He continued his random babbling.

“Shit, this not happening,” I said retrieving a bottle of Snapple from the nightstand. “Drink this.” I turned to give him the bottle. Jake flicked a lighter, trying to light a cigarette hanging precariously from his lips. He only succeeded in lighting the filter.

“Are you out of your freaking mind? Gonna set the house on fire.” I threw the bottle on the bed, snatched the flaming cigarette, and tossed on the floor. I grabbed one of my boots and stamped on it, extinguishing the embers.

“You’re a pain in my ass.” Jake took the bottle and twisted it open. After chugging half the drink in one gulp, he handed it to me and dropped back on the bed.

“I’m tired,” he said in a vulnerable and sad voice. He pulled the covers over his head and the upper part of his body.

I pulled his shoes off and rearranged the covers on him. The nights were starting to have a chill.

I lay next to him. My lungs felt depleted of air as if a constrictor had wrapped itself around my chest. This wasn’t part of the plan. Jake and I had sworn we wouldn’t touch the dope we sold. It was the holiest of the cardinal rules.

“He’s coming back, isn’t he? He always comes back.” Jake whimpered in an anguished voice.

“No, Jake, he’s never coming back. I promise.” I pushed his shaggy hair from his forehead and kissed it.

Jake slid his arm around me and pressed his face to my chest. Then, he wept. He wept with the grief that haunted him.

WHEN I ROLLED out of bed, sunbeams invaded the room, but Jake had vanished. He knew I would grill him so he decided to dodge me.

I texted and called Jake many times. He ignored me.

I got up and ventured out of my room. I leaped over a man slumped in the hall, his face pressed into a puddle of vomit. Apparently, he didn’t make to the toilet.

I could almost weep with gratitude when I opened the bathroom and found it empty. In the past, I had seen a naked couple sleeping in the tub. Another time, I found someone hugging the toilet, eyes shot, and head over the lid. But the worse was when I almost stepped on a needle hidden in the mat. I learned not ever to walk barefooted again. I used flip-flops even to shower.

After a quick shower, I caught up on the rest of my schoolwork, made a few deliveries, and stopped at a fast food restaurant for a meal. Back in my room, I sat on my bed waiting for Jake. He never came home.